Opening Night
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Cassia and Dalton inaugurate a second Gallery.


Opening Night

By Laura Schiller

Based on: The Matched Trilogy

Copyright: Ally Condie

The second Gallery was almost as simple as the first. Housed inside the rebuilt and refurbished Museum, it was a simple space of white walls, framed pictures and poems, sculptures standing on the ground, and one makeshift wooden stage in the back for performers. It was already well stocked; many people had even been turned away, so strong was the outbreak of creativity in the aftermath of the Plague. All it needed now was an audience.

"Ready?" asked Dalton, her eyes sparkling.

"Ready," said Cassia, opening the doors.

The crowd streamed in, wide-eyed, talking, laughing, exclaiming, silent. Many of them still in blue or brown plainclothes, but others daring to stand out: a man wearing the tie-dyed purple remains of an Official's uniform; a teenage girl whose black bobbed hair was sharply asymmetrical; an older woman with a shimmering pearl necklace. Conspicuous among them was their new leader Anna, with her long gray cornrows and the tall bodyguard at her shoulder (protecting her from supporters of the old regime). As she climbed onto the stage, a hush began to fall; it did not take the chime of the sound system to remind them to pay attention. A camera crew positioned themselves right below her, recording her upcoming speech for the evening's newsfeed on the ports.

"Thank you all," she began, "For coming here tonight."

Cheers and whistles were the response. She smiled.

"It's been a difficult year," referring to the Plague, the Rising, and the nationwide collapse preceding her election. "Many of us are still recovering from illness, or the loss of a loved one, or the end of a government which, though flawed, provided safety and stability for many of its citizens. We've all had to adapt. But we survived, and I like to think we've become stronger – both as individuals, and as a nation."

Scattered cheers.

"My opponents tell me," she continued, "That dedicating a space to modern works of art, especially during times of scarcity, is a waste of resources. Why bother to create something new, when we already have the hundred best works of every genre already selected for our entertainment? Why try to imitate what has already been done?"

She paused for rhetorical effect. Her audience was silent.

"They have a right to their opinions. I don't dispute them. However, I believe that creativity _always_ matters, in every time and place; that it doesn't matter how often something is done, only who does it, and how well. I believe that in times of change and trial, such as now, we need our artists more than ever: to remind us of what is beautiful in an often ugly world; to challenge us to think outside our limits; to share emotions which cannot be shared in words; to remind us, by the stories they tell in music, images and words, that our pain is shared by others, and so is our joy.

"On that note, I am pleased and proud to attend the opening night of our first National Gallery. My friends, I would like you all to thank the talented and hardworking young people who made this endeavor possible: our curators, Dalton Fuller and Cassia Reyes!"

Anna swept her hand in their direction, prompting all the cameras to train on them as well. Dalton beamed and stood up taller, the flashes making her spiky blond hair shine like a halo. Cassia blushed as her friend took her arm and led her toward the stage.

As she climbed the steps and looked out over the crowd, her eyes sought out one particular figure, and stayed with him. He had come in late; since travel between provinces had become commonplace in order to visit loved ones and take vacations, he had been working as a pilot, and his flight schedule did not always allow for events like this. It seemed that they were fated to spend some of their time apart, even now, but she didn't mind; it made seeing him again, hearing his stories, all the more precious when the time came.

True to form, he was standing in the middle of the room, almost invisible in the crowd. But by his blue eyes and cinnamon-colored skin, by the quiet dignity of his stance, she would have known him anywhere. _I'm proud of you,_ his eyes told her across the heads of strangers. _I love you._

She would help Dalton answer questions from every reporter in the room, but her smile was for Ky Markham alone.


End file.
